Dim Sum After Fisticuffs
by MysteriousTwinkie
Summary: Just a place to put random Olicity bits that don't go anywhere else. Since apparently I'm writing Tumblr prompt fic now. :P
1. Chapter 1--It Was Over

**Tumblr Prompt Fic—Established Olicity—Oliver thinks Felicity is going to break up with him**

It was over.

Felicity might not have said the words yet, but Oliver knew they were coming. She just kept pulling away. It had been weeks since they'd had an actual date, and while part of it was due to the crazed killer they'd been tracking, part of it was also Felicity avoiding being alone with him.

When Oliver realized what was happening, he was devastated. He couldn't even take it out on the training dummies or the salmon ladder. He just slid to the floor and stayed there. It was supposed to have been forever. Him and Felicity. When he kissed her for the first time (_finally_), it was supposed to be his last first kiss. He'd made it count.

There was an engagement ring wrapped in plastic and hidden in the toilet tank (it was the only place in her—_their_—apartment where he was sure she wouldn't find it). It was the most simple piece in the family collection, because he knew her well enough now to understand that she wouldn't want anything ostentatious, or anything that would impede her typing ability. What should he do with it now? How could he have read her so terribly, terribly wrong?

Days later, he crept through the apartment while she was asleep (on the couch, not in the bed with him) and went into the bathroom. As quietly as he could, he lifted the lid off the toilet tank, but his grip was awkward and it clanked loudly as he set it on the counter. Oliver cringed, waiting to hear if he'd woken Felicity up.

After a few moments of silence, he reached into the toilet tank. But the plastic bundle wasn't there. He peered in, getting a spritz of water in the face for his effort. The wrapped ring was nowhere to be found. Frantically, he looked around the bathroom, but he had no idea what could have happened.

A soft knock at the door brought up his head with a jerk.

"Oliver?"

He wiped his hands on his sweatpants and opened the door.

Felicity's hair was all flat on one side, and the waffle pattern of one of her throw pillows was imprinted on her cheek. She'd never been more beautiful. And this was it. She was going to say the words, ending their forever.

"Are you looking for this?" she asked, holding up her left hand. She was wearing the ring.

"When did you—How—"

"The toilet wasn't flushing, so I opened the lid to see what was going on, and I found it."

Oliver sighed. "Why are you wearing it if you're just going to break up with me?"

"What?" Genuine surprise showed on her face. "Why would I break up with you?"

"I honestly have no idea." Oliver sank onto the toilet. "But you've been so … far away. I figured you were getting ready to split."

She knelt next to him and took his hand in both of hers. The ring was warm against his skin—she'd been wearing it for a while. How had he not noticed? Had he started pulling away too?

"I found the ring weeks ago," said Felicity. "It freaked me out. I've never—this is the longest relationship I've ever been in. And I can count the relationships I've been in on one hand and not even use all my fingers. I got scared."

"But you're wearing it now," Oliver pointed out.

"Yeah. I was worried the water could damage it. I figured you could ask me any old time. Like, oh, say, now, for instance."

He smiled. "But you're the one who's kneeling."

"It'll make a great story," she replied. "You panicking, me kneeling, and especially the toilet."


	2. Chapter 2--She Was Asleep

**_(A/N: This is a gift of sorts for missmudpie on Tumblr, who made an adorable post like a week ago that was just a snatch of dialogue where Oliver fell all over himself trying to ask Felicity out. And also for ash818, who was like WRITE IT. Well, I did. It took me a week, and I almost psyched myself out. Special thanks to thatmasquedgirl, who read it for me when I finally finished.)_  
**

She was asleep when he let himself into her hospital room. Oliver hated to wake her—it was hard for Felicity to get a decent night's sleep when nurses were stopping in to check her vitals every hour. But he knew he'd never hear the end of it if he didn't rouse her for this.

"Felicity."

Her eyes fluttered open. It always worked. She was so attuned to the way he said her name that he didn't even have to squeeze her shoulder anymore. Just the word itself was enough to wake her.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi."

"Do you need something?" she asked, squinting without her glasses. "Because I was having this really great dream, and if I go right to sleep again, I can probably get back to it."

"Oh, really. What kind of dream?"

A blush quickly worked its way up her neck and across her face.

"_Oh_," he said with a grin. "_That_ kind of dream."

Felicity smacked his arm. While it was playful, there was more force to the action than there'd been in weeks. A good sign.

"No! Not that kind of dream. It totally wasn't—oh, forget it," she said, waving her hand dismissively.

"Well, far be it from me to interrupt your happy fun times, but . . ." Oliver handed her his phone.

She squinted at the screen, and then her mouth dropped open.

"Don't scream," he warned her. "If you start screaming, your nurse will think I'm abusing you or something, and she won't let you go downstairs."

"D—downstairs?" Felicity looked up. Tears shone in her blue eyes. "You mean we can go see . . ."

"Only if you don't scream. And you have to go in a wheelchair."

"Oliver, I don't need a wheelchair. I've been walking on my own for days."

"Not this far, you haven't. If you want to go downstairs, it'll be on four wheels."

"Of course I want to go downstairs." She dropped the phone on the bed and threw back the covers. "Bring me my chariot."

He laughed. "I told that tech that's like twelve years old that we'd need a wheelchair when I came in. He's probably waiting in the hall."

Oliver stood off to one side while Felicity sat up and got out of bed. He was expressly forbidden from helping her unless she asked. She was determined to do as much as she could for herself in order to get out of the hospital as soon as possible, and it had worked. They were talking about letting her go home as soon as tomorrow.

The IV had been removed that morning, and she only had to wear the nasal cannula if she felt like she needed the oxygen—mostly she hadn't. So there were no tubes or lines to deal with this time. Her Superman pajama pants were rucked up to her knees, and as she swung her legs out of bed, she shook them out. She wore a bright yellow cardigan over her red tank top, but her feet were bare, her toes unpainted. Oliver passed her the pair of fuzzy green socks that had been on a nearby chair.

Felicity bent to put on the socks but stopped halfway down. "It—I shouldn't—" She looked up at him, an unspoken plea in her eyes.

Oliver took the socks from her and crouched next to the bed. He put the socks on and gave her feet a squeeze before standing up and offering her his hand.

"I'm so excited, I might throw up," she said as he drew her up.

"Are you serious?" he asked, glancing around, wondering where the emesis basin had gone. He had been with her every step of the way, but the one thing he couldn't handle was vomiting. His best friend's near-death experience was a hell of time to discover he was a sympathetic vomiter.

"Not literally throw up," Felicity clarified. "I'm just really, really excited."

He smiled. "Grab your hoodie."

"What for?"

"Because you always get cold when you leave your room, and it's warmer than my jacket. Plus, _I_ might need my jacket."

With her hoodie tucked under her arm, she walked into the hallway on her own and glared at the nursing tech before sitting in the wheelchair. It was a token glare, just her letting everyone know she thought the wheelchair was ridiculous. In reality, Felicity had stolen the hearts of everyone she'd met in the hospital. Oliver was pretty sure she had no idea of the effect she had on people, from her nurses and doctors to Roy and Oliver and Digg to hardened assassins like Nyssa al'Ghul.

Oliver took over from the nursing tech and pushed Felicity's wheelchair while she sat with her hands folded in her lap. The maternity ward was on the second floor; Felicity's room was on the seventh. In the crowded elevator, he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"This would be a lot faster on a zip line."

She laughed. It was bright and sparkling, and he wondered how everyone else in the elevator could just continue to stare straight ahead. But they didn't know what he knew. That her laughter had been in short supply, and her smiles mostly half-hearted or sheepish, since she'd been in the hospital.

Oliver handed Felicity his phone so she could double-check the room number Dig had texted him. He pushed the wheelchair out of the elevator and down the hall. The signs in the hospital were clear and well-posted, but Felicity had to point them out anyway and tell him where to turn. She was the same way in the car. It would be annoying if it wasn't so adorable.

When he knocked softly on the door, Diggle's low voice beckoned them to enter.

Lyla was asleep in a hospital bed that was bigger and looked more comfortable than Felicity's. Her face was flushed, her hair dampened with sweat. Dig sat in a rocking chair next to the bed, cradling a pink-wrapped bundle in his huge arms. Felicity got up from the wheelchair, her forgotten hoodie sliding to the floor. She stood next to Dig and peered down at his newborn daughter.

"Hi, Digglet," she whispered. "It's so nice to finally meet you."

"Does she have a name yet?" asked Oliver.

"No," Dig replied. "We'd pretty much decided on something, but we'll wait until Momma wakes up to do the birth certificate."

"Well, I'll just tell you now, I won't be calling her anything but Digglet," said Felicity. "At least until about a year after she's old enough to start really being embarrassed by it."

"Do you want to hold her?" Diggle asked her.

"Do I? Does a—Oh, just gimme." Felicity held her hands out.

"Why don't you sit first? You look like you're about to fall over."

"I know, right?" said Oliver. "I can't believe they want to send her home tomorrow."

Felicity glared at him as she returned to the wheelchair. They'd had that conversation—argument—more than once since her doctor raised the idea of her discharge. Felicity didn't want to stay in the hospital a second longer than she had to, but if Oliver had his way, she'd be here until she was completely back to normal. But he was alone in a losing battle against Felicity, her doctor, and all the nurses who kept exclaiming how well she was doing.

"_Oh_," Felicity whispered as Diggle set the child in her waiting arms. "She's so light."

Dig drew Oliver aside. "Hallway. Now."

Oliver raised his eyebrows but did as Diggle commanded and followed him out to the hallway.

"Did you do it?" Dig asked him when they were out of earshot of Lyla's room.

"Not yet."

"If you're waiting for the perfect time, you'll wait forever. But I'd say now is pretty favorable. She'll be all mushy from holding the baby. If you're still worried that she'll turn you down."

Oliver rubbed his fingers together. Of course he was worried. It terrified him. That was why he'd waited this long. Felicity wasn't easy to read, and he had no assurance of success.

"Just do it, man," Dig urged, pushing him toward the open door. "She's never gonna be less scary than she is right now."

He sighed and strode back into the room. Felicity turned to look up at him, and it was ridiculous and cliché and way too soon to be having those kinds of thoughts, but the sight of her smiling with a new baby in her arms took his breath away.

"Felicity, I—"

"Oh my God, sit down, Oliver, before you pass out," she said.

"What? I'm fine," he said. His fingers rubbed together faster now as he tried to remember how he wanted to word this. He felt like he could start a fire with them.

"You just went totally pale. Sit down," Felicity commanded.

"No, I need to ask you something first."

"Sit, or I will make you sit, wheelchair, baby, and all."

Her eyes flashed, and he had no doubt she would follow through on her threat. So he sank onto the rocking chair.

"Are you okay?" Felicity asked. "Put your head between your knees . . . Oh, wait. That's what they tell you to do in a plane crash. Maybe you should just take some deep breaths."

"I'm fine," Oliver insisted. "I just need to ask you—"

"Ask me anything you want, as long as you stay in that chair."

He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. Why was this so hard? It was Felicity. How could asking her out be so much more difficult than actually saying he loved her? (Not that she believed him.)

"What's going on, Oliver?" Her voice had taken on a softer tone. "Talk to me."

"I want to ask you out, and I'm kind of nervous about it," he said, looking at the floor. "More than kind of."

"You're just saying that because I look all maternal with a baby in my arms."

He lifted his head to meet her gaze. She must have seen something there because the joking smile disappeared from her face, giving way to an expression remarkably similar to the one she'd had after his declaration. Shock.

"You _are_ serious."

"Yeah." His fingers rubbed together. "Do you—would you—have dinner with me sometime?"

"A date. An actual date. Just you and me." Her glasses were slipping down her nose, but her arms were full of brand-new baby. He reached forward and pushed them up, which made her smile. "For real?"

"I'll try not to take it personally that you think I'm kidding," said Oliver, but he was smiling now. Incredulity was a better reaction than a flat-out no.

"You two are ridiculous," Lyla said, blinking sleep out of her eyes.

"No kidding," said Dig from the doorway.

"Hand her over," Lyla said to Felicity. She held out her hands.

Oliver made a move to help Felicity, but a look from her put him back in the chair. She rose gracefully to her feet and stepped around the bed. After giving the baby to Lyla, she turned back toward the wheelchair, but Oliver reached up and grabbed her hips, pulling her down to sit on his knees. She just looked up at him with her mouth hanging open.

"God, you're so thin. I forgot how much weight you lost in here."

"How would you know how much I weigh, creeper?" she asked.

"I know how you feel in my arms," he said.

Lyla cackled.

"From the zip-lining."

"Right." Felicity stared right into his eyes, and he got the feeling she was looking for something there, something very particular. "You're serious."

"Yes, I'm serious," said Oliver. "I only let girls named Felicity who I've been working up the nerve to ask out for months sit on my lap while I wait for an answer. So could you put me out of my misery?"

She threw her arms around him and pressed her face into his neck. The edge of her glasses was poking him in the throat, but he barely felt it.

"Okay," she mumbled. "I'd like that."


	3. Chapter 3-When the Rain Washes You Clean

_**(A/N: thatmasquedgirl had a rough day, so I wrote this for her instead of working on my novel.)**_

**When the Rain Washes You Clean**

Starling City's fearsome hooded vigilante hated thunderstorms. It was a fact, Felicity was pretty sure, known only to her and Diggle.

It had taken her some time to spot the pattern, the correlation between severe weather and times when Oliver would seek refuge in the Foundry when no criminals were afoot and no crisis was happening.

Part of what clued her in was his behavior. He'd be edgy, restless—more so than usual—moving from the practice dummies to the salmon ladder to that huge tractor tire. He wouldn't sharpen arrows or do anything else involving electricity, and he gave her workstation and the servers a wide berth.

Oliver confessed late one night when Diggle and Roy had both gone home hours before. Felicity was scrutinizing lines of code for traces of a rival hacker, and Oliver was beating the crap out of a practice dummy. Sound didn't travel much from upstairs, so she dismissed the low rumble as thumping bass from the music playing in Verdant.

A brutal blow knocked the practice dummy off its base and sent it skidding across the floor.

Felicity spun around in her chair. "Okay, what is eating you?" she demanded.

Oliver blew out a noisy breath. "It's the thunder."

"Is this an island thing?"

He nodded. "There was nowhere to hide during storms. We were totally vulnerable. Rain was bad enough, but lightning could hurt us or start a fire, bring trees down . . ." Oliver glanced up, pain in his eyes. "My first night at home, there was a thunderstorm. I woke up on the floor with my hands around my mother's neck."

Felicity would have put her hand on his arm if he'd been close enough, but he eyed the computers with suspicion.

She opened a new browser window and pulled up a radar image. Oliver drew closer, looking over her shoulder.

"What's that?" he asked.

"The storm." Felicity pointed at the bright green blob on the screen. "The National Weather Service is much more accurate than the local TV stations." She peered at the image. "It's moving pretty quickly. It'll probably be out of here in fifteen or twenty minutes."

"Too long," he muttered.

Felicity kept one eye on the radar and one on Oliver. He ran his hands over the collection of arrows, his compound bow and his regular bow, but everything was in pristine condition. There was nothing to fix. He paced the length of the Foundry a few times before it really started getting on her nerves.

She checked the radar image one last time, and then got up from her chair.

"Come with me," she said, holding out her hand.

Oliver hesitated.

"I have a plan," Felicity continued. "Do you trust me?"

"Absolutely," said Oliver, "but your plans tend to be—"

"Effective?" she supplied. "Awesome?"

"Extreme."

"One time I suggest blowing up a building. One time." She grabbed his hand and headed for the stairs.

He resisted. "I don't want to go up there until that storm is long gone."

"It _is_ gone. Mostly."

"Felicity."

"Come on, Oliver." She tugged on his hand, and he trudged up the stairs after her. "I know your trust is greater than your fear, and you know I'd never put you in harm's way just to prove a point."

"What about that night with the arsonist, when you sent me into a burning building?" he asked.

"That was one time," she replied. "And I didn't know the place was on fire."

Felicity glanced back. He was smiling now. A good sign, even if it had come at her own expense. It occurred to her that she should probably let go of his hand, now that they were up the stairs and walking down the hall to the back exit. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. With her free hand, she pushed open the door.

"Felicity, it's raining," Oliver pointed out.

"I know. That's the whole point."

She stepped outside and was quickly drenched by the steady downpour. Oliver remained just inside the door. He tugged on her hand, still enfolded in his, but she shook her head.

"Come on," Felicity urged.

Oliver sighed and walked out into the rain with her.

"See? There are good things about the rain," she said.

"Like what?"

"It washes everything clean." Felicity sniffed the air. "Can't you smell that?"

"We're in an alley behind a nightclub," he said. "It smells like beer and garbage."

She bumped her shoulder against his arm. "Give me something to work with here."

A distant—very distant—rumble of thunder had Oliver flinching and eyeing the open back door, but she squeezed his hand, bringing his focus back to her.

"There was a storm the night the _Queen's Gambit_ went down," he said.

"I know." She tipped her head back and let the rain hit her face, drops splashing across the lenses of her glasses until everything was a wet blur. "I remember it. I mean, I remember seeing it on the news. I was still at MIT."

Oliver took off her glasses. "Talk about vulnerable. There's nothing more vulnerable than being in an open life raft on the ocean during a thunderstorm."

"But this feels different, right?" Felicity asked. "And _you're_ different now." She leaned into him, too short to lay her head on his shoulder. She settled for his bicep. "You're different from the guy in that raft, and you're different from the man who woke up strangling his mother."

He turned so they were facing each other now instead of side by side. "It's not like they're other people. They're all different sides of me. The scared kid puking over the side of the life boat and praying not to get hit by lightning. The dark and scarred man who couldn't shut his eyes for ten minutes without having nightmares. This, in the rain, with you. They're still part of me." His free arm encircled her waist. With his hand pressed in the small of her back, he drew her in, dipped his head so his lips brushed against her hairline. "I'm always going to be scared, and dark, and scarred."

"And I'm always going to be right next to you, holding your hand in the rain."


End file.
